Dragon Age: The Collection
by Pygolampida Ankathi Alepou Dai
Summary: A collection of odd plot ideas for Dragon Age that I may or may not expand on. One can never know when it's a good idea to write things like this down. Chapter Six: The Maker is Childish
1. The Last Dance

"If you have any idea where we are, now would be a great time to speak up." The words bounced off of the hard stone and back the way they came, dying in the chilly air without ever having carried more than a few steps. Sputtering candles flickered as two shadows slid past, footsteps of vibration rather than sound. Something long caught the light and gleamed, but was quickly covered in shadows again.

"We should get back to the main room," a second voice hissed back. There was a flash of green in the corner. "We're missing the outcome."

"You're right, we should go back; but, alas, we are lost." A person stepped into the light, looking around with narrow eyes. The dark seemed to cling on the legs and feet, the candle dimming slightly. "I'm sure the Keeper will be most annoyed with us upon our return."

A pair of emerald eyes blinked slowly in front of the first figure. The candle flickered, and a second shadowy figure went to stand next to the other. "I think... it's that way?" A hand gestured vaguely to the hallway on the right. With a sigh, they both turned right, the shadows swallowing them.

"We are so far away from the main room," the first voice grumbled. "It's all gloomy here, and we've been walking for half an hour."

There was a sudden crash, and the air itself seemed to pause. The two intruders held their breath, a pair of dark eyes glancing over to a pair of wide green ones.

"... that wasn't me."

"I didn't cause it, either."

They both stared at each other for another minute, half-hidden in the shadows. Nervously glancing around, they tugged their hoods down to see better. A ways down the hall, a door opened just a crack and streak of pale green light lit up a wall. Two heads turned towards it immediately.

Slowly, achingly slowly they took a step forwards, both at the same time and leading with their left foot. It was as if they stepped out of a door: sudden cold hit them, making them shiver. One let out a breath of surprise, and they both blinked in surprise at the cloud of fog that formed.

"Keep the sacrifice still." A voice echoed from the door, seeming to vibrate through their very bones and instill a deep feeling of fear and disgust. The light from the behind the door grew brighter

"Someone, help me!" A woman screamed.

One of the intruders went into a sprint towards the door, prompting the other to follow. Scrabbling on the frosted floor as they stopped, the door was thrown open.

"What's going on here?!"

"Holy-!"

It was a towering monstrosity, body twisted into a mockery of a man's. Angry glowing red shards protruded from its body, further deforming it. It's proportions were wrong, its face- was that embedded into his skull? The enraged creature turned to them, revealing a woman in a chantry outfit to be dangling in the air in front of him. It was holding, clutched in its disfigured hand, a glowing ball that as creating the light from the hallway.

This was, altogether, a very unusual experience.

The woman in the air looked startled, but then her face became determined. She lashed out, and the orb was hit out of the creature's hand and flew across the room in a surprising show of force. Startled, the two intruders reached out their hands in a net-like fashion and caught the ball between them. The disfigured monster-person let out a cry of rage, lunging towards them as the ball lit up even brighter. The doors on the other side of the room burst open just as the ball seemed to explode.

There was a burst of color, and a high-pitched ringing noise. The Fade buckled in on itself.

* * *

Divine Justinia groaned in pain as she leaned against one of her saviors. The red-headed elf didn't seem to mind the weight she was putting on him, diligently shuffling forwards and bringing them ever closer to the blinding light at the top of a seemingly unclimbable hill. The other elf, the one with the dark hair, was behind them, fighting off the demon-spiders with the young mage who was unfortunate enough to run into the room right at the end.

Or, rather- fortunate for him, really, the red-headed elf with the bright green eyes stated, since it is very possible he would have been killed otherwise. He said this in a very calm manner, gently lifting the withered elderly lady over a particularly tall rock formation. The pointed edges had snagged on his pants as he carefully stepped over it, and it was a wonder the group was making such good time considering how careful the elf was with her.

The two elves were rather apologetic once they found out who she was, apologizing for potentially putting her in danger. After she waved them off and informed them sternly that they probably saved her life, they apologized for spying on her conclave. But seeing as even Qunari and Dwarves were there to see the outcome as well, she waved that off as well. Then they seemed to have it in their mind that they had hurt her, because she was obviously in pain.

She didn't have the heart to tell them about the vile magic used against her, so let them fuss over her and have the red-headed one become her walking-stick. They also didn't seem to want to talk about the glowing green gashes on their hands were they had caught the orb, a testament to how the magic affected them as well.

"I really hope that's a way out," the young man growled, walking fast to catch up with the hobbled dou. "There aren't any spider right now and I really want to go before that changes."

"It'll be a way out, I'm sure," the dark haired elf says reassuringly, coming up on the other side. "There can't be many other reasons for a glowing rip in the sky the same color of the freaky-magic we saw."

"Your technical terms are so complex; I can't understand a word you say," the red-haired elf drawled. "You use such big words- like 'the'."

"You're a horrible brother," the other elf returned, making Justinia smile despite the situation.

"You're a terrible sister."

"Wait, you're a girl?!" The man said, causing the dark-haired elf to look offended.

"Oh my," Divine Justinia said in amusement. "Honestly, what has the circle been teaching you, young man?"

The man blushed, sputtering. The others laughed at the face he made, Justinia thought that maybe- just maybe, they all could get out of this alive. The fear in the group faded away at the stubborn insistence of the two mysterious elves. They didn't see any more spiders as they continued climbing the hill.

"My name's Percy Trevelyan." The young mage said at about three-fourths of the way to the top. "Just thought you should know," He mumbled afterwards. There was an awkward moment between them, and for a second there was a chittering of a demon-spider.

"My name is Lin," the red-haired elf finally said, causing the Divine to hum in a questioning lit.

"I'm Banal'ras," the she-elf offered next. "You have permission to just call me Banal, however."

"Now why didn't you young people introduce yourself the same time I did?" Justinia huffed, but there was no ire behind it.

"Maybe we were just overwhelmed with being in the presence of the great Divine," the mage grumbled, sounding bitter. Divine Justinia frowned at this, looking sad and drawn. The two elves sighed.

"Don't you love how life-threatening situations bring people together?" Lin said in false cheer.

"Feel the love!" The two elves laughed, and Percy tried to scowl but couldn't manage it.

* * *

Percy was still trying to look angry when the hill leveled off and the large glowing sky-rip was just within reach. The elves looked confident and so sure that this as the way out, even when they clutched the 'magicked' hand to their chest, that the two humans were sure this would be the last of the warped world they saw.

"Ladies first," The re- Lin said, guiding the Divine forwards with a cheeky little smile. "Or would you rather the big, strong mage be there to catch you on the other side?"

"I'll just go," Percy growled, stalking forwards and pushing past them. He turned a baleful eyes at the three, and huffed. "I'll be on the other side, to-" The words stuck and he made a face- "catch the Divine." Looking like we was being asked to bathe in mud, he stepped through the Sky-rip.

It was like stepping through a doorway to the real world, he would later reflect. The rip in the sky had a distance of a hand-span that he stepped across, and the world past it was solid and normal. Wide-eyed, he spun around to shout to the others that, indeed, it was a way out. The words stuck in his throat when all he could see was a warped green tear, nothing on the other side.

"Wh-what?" He whispered in confusion, staring at it. Some sort of twisted magic flowed off of it in waves, the same as on the hands of the elves; but it seemed different, more dormant. He blinked back tears, hoping, praying to the Maker, to Andraste, to anyone, that it hadn't closed behind him.

Then a hand reached out through the green; a pale wrinkled hand, grasping the air. Excited, he reached forwards and grabbed it, pulling Divine Justinia through. She made an exclamation of surprise as he laughed, catching her before she fell. "Those damn elves were right!" He crowed, giving her a bear hug. "We made it out!" He laughed, a full belly-ache laughed that left his gasping and wheezing and had the Divine laughing along with him. "Maker, Maker, but we made it out!"

"Wha-!" One of the elves tumbled out of the rip face-first, landing in a sprawled heap. Percy startled, stepping away from Justinia. The Rip fluctuated wildly, starting to shrink- it was closing, oh Maker!

"Wait, the rip, it's-!" Percy moved forwards suddenly, almost tripping over the elf, because he had to reach it in time, what about the other elf? There were two elves went in, two had to go out! After all that confidence and helping him along, he couldn't be out here when there was one still stuck! "Wait! Wait!"

There was a sound like a ripping leather, and for just a moment the Sky-rip stabilized. He held his breath, anxious; something barrelled into him, knocking him backwards. A heavy weight was on his chest, and through the sharp pain and the daze he could see the rip closing, fade-spiders swarming on the otherside. Struggling to breathe, he lifted his head off the ground to get a look at the elf that was sprawled on top of him. She was out cold, like her brother.

He let out a weak relieved laugh, letting his head fall back. As the blackness closed around him, he could distantly hear the sound of armoured feet running. A face, pale and glowing, hovered over him in a perpetual state of worry. An angel, he thought blearily.

* * *

Lin woke up screaming. His back had arched clean off the floor, his eyes popping open at the same time as his mouth and he let out a sound as if his very soul was being ripped from his body. Banal'ras felt it a millisecond after he did, the spiking pain that suddenly gripped her arm and traveled up as quickly as lightning. Her vision turned white as the agony spiked, only to fade abruptly to a painful throb in her palm. She was gasping at the end, curled up in little ball on her side. Banal didn't know if she screamed or not.

The men guarding them didn't react past the instinctive flinch; their swords remained steadily pointed at them. It was highly sceptical whether they realised that the way they were holding it made it easy to get past. She tried to keep her mind away from the pain by thinking of ways to escape.

Finally, after many minutes, the pain in her hand became much less crippling. She was able to relax and even out her breath. Lin stirred next to her, shooting closer to her body heat.

"Ouch," he whispered half-heartedly. It didn't even begin to cover the feeling. Banal made a sound of agreement and curled around her own hand. "Hey, my hand glows."

"Very acute observation," she mumbled, squeezing her eyes closed. There was something wrong; something was different, and she didn't know what it was. It wasn't just the glowing, painful magic on her hand, or the strange surroundings they woke up in. There was something else, something…

She pushed the thought to one side when she heard someone coming. Banal didn't bother to inform Lin; he would know the second he did. She sat up quickly, but not quickly enough to cause more pain or create a change in blood-pressure. Lin didn't bother, instead curling around her like a cat, his belly pressed against her back and keeping her propped up.

The door opened with a loud bang as it bounced off the wall, and in stormed a woman with dark hair and angry eyes. Behind her came another woman, all cloaked with a hood over her head. - Which reminded Banal, where was her own cowl? - The dark-haired human circled them like a predator, a sneer on her face.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you both now. The Divine is unresponsive, the Conclave destroyed."

This was a start of a terrible day, Banal'ras could tell. Vaguely, in the back of her head, she could feel Lin's agreement.

And as they were led outside, wrists bound and stumbling like newborn foals, she realised exactly what was so very different. Wide eyes turned to her brother, whose face matched her own. And it wasn't because of the 'Breach,' though that was a large part of it. They didn't say anything, just shuffled closer to each other.

The human woman wanted her help, in what might be a last-ditch effort to close the gapping hole in the sky. Lin would help. Of course he would. And if he did, Banal'ras would as well. The humans didn't even have to ask. They had only to look at the elves faces to know the answer. But they did not look, and asked instead. Warriors are stupid.

Lin found great amusement in her opinion on warriors, she could tell. Later, when he hefted his sword and shield and stuck down the demon, he tauntingly said "Still think warriors are stupid?"

Yes. She had to kill a demon that was about to bite him. Honestly, couldn't warriors be more careful?

* * *

"Quickly, before more come through!"

Banal'ras yelped as the magic in her palm suddenly became agitated. Her daggers slipped from her hands as she bent over slightly, clutching the offending appendage to her chest. She felt from it surprise, anger, fear- Lin looked like a startled deer, standing there with the mage lifting his hand to the sky-rip.

The rip collapsed on itself, bringing with it an end to the worst of her pain. She blinked a few times, then carefully picked up her weapons. No one had noticed her, too enamored with the closing of the sky-rip. Lin was amazed also, but to look at his face one couldn't tell unless you knew him very well.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

Oh, that didn't sound good. No, no, her brother wasn't- _couldn'_ t be the key to anything. He couldn't be important; important people were villainized and killed. With narrowed eyes, Banal'ras stepped into the shadows and disappeared from sight.

The dwarf with the crossbow introduced himself as Varric, the "Rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tagalong."

"Are you with the Chantry, or…?"

The dwarf said he was a prisoner, and Cassandra said he wasn't anymore. He must be important, if he had been brought to speak to the Divine. And perhaps dangerous; they were all potentially dangerous. Especially to her brother, be being an 'important' person who was 'key.' And this- what did he introduce himself as?- this Solas, he was especially dangerous; she didn't know why he was, but she did know he was.

"Was there not two of you?" The mage, Solas, asked in a benign manner. There was an instant stillness from the others, while Lin furrowed his brows in confusion and looked over his shoulder.

"She ran?!" Cassandra demanded loudly, clenching her fists and looking like she might hit someone. Varric, being the closest, put his hands up in a placating manner and backed up with a nervous laugh. Solas watched.

That might be how he's dangerous, Banal'ras rationalized as Lin let out a sharp whistle. She obediently stepped out of the shadows, materialising at his side as she darkness fell away. Cassandra immediately looked less angry, but her face did wrinkle in distaste.

"I'm not a dog," Banal hissed quietly at her brother.

"Woof," Lin said in a sarcastic answer, raising his eyebrows.

And later they would stand together, order the army to work together. They would remind them the stakes, they would take control, they would save the scouts, and they would close the breach. They would do it together.

* * *

"It would appear that the Mark upon their hand has affected them both negatively upon the stabilizing of the Breach." Solas said diplomatically. In truth, his spell told him nothing and only the minor connection to the ancient magic allowed him to know anything. The force of the Breach had raced from one elf to the other, the magic balancing between them; in this way, enough magic was taken in between them that it would have killed any one person. The connection between them was an amazing work of art, an astounding piece of magic that had a million in one chance to form. Lifting the male's hand to look at his palm, Solas wondered what else the Orb had gifted them with.

"The Breach is stable," Cassandra said warily, watching the elven mage stare intently at the Mark, "and a bit smaller. However, it still needs closed. When will they awaken?"

But Solas shook his head. "I would not know

* * *

, Seeker."

Cassandra made an irritated noise, looking as if she might hit someone. Solas ducked his head slightly and tried to focus on the feeling of the magic.

It was like a constant connection between them, a balancing act to keep the entire thing from imploding while simultaneously exploding. Mana flowed from one to the other in a stream, and he was sure if he could just get access to that mana he would be able to learn much more about the state of the two "saviors" and of the Anchor itself. However, he could not do anything right now. Rolling his tongue in his mouth in irritation, he glanced at Seeker Cassandra from the corner of his eye.

It made sense they wouldn't leave him alone with the Anchor; after all, he didn't even know their… .

"What are they called?" He asked politely, setting down the hand as gently as he could. His fingers are warm from the fever when he lets go.

"We don't know."

For some reason, that didn't sit well with him. And so he curses his lack of ability to fix this, he curses the two elves for stumbling into the heart of his plan. He curses the Seeker for not allowing him to properly study the Anchor, and he curses himself for not even asking for a name.

Then Adan comes in, his arms full of different concoctions, and forces both of them out.

* * *

"Let's keep her!" Banal squealed, throwing her arms around Sera. "Please Cassandra, please?" Lin made an appropriate noise of agreement, but didn't hug the archer due to the glare she was giving him.

"Well, this whole bit decided to go tits-up, yeah?" Sera said wisely. "Didn't think one of those big-headed pansies was all cuddly. Like a little rabbit." The archer let out a snorting laugh, squirming a bit. Banal stiffened, her eyes widening; Cassandra tensed, hand on her weapon, and Lin went very still.

"D-did you just cop a feel?" Banal asked, flabberghasted. She took a step back, covering her chest.

"Well what else am I supposed to do with your boobs in my face? Weird, you are. Nice melons, though."

"... Thanks." Banal said eventually. "You're not to bad yourself." Apparently placated, she threw an arm over Sera's shoulder. "C'mon, there's some things you need to know about the Inquisition." She started to lead Sera away.

Lin slouched, giving the others a confused look that they returned. "This probably has something to do with watching guards try to fight with no pants," the elf decided eventually. He shrugged of the others stare, and jogged after his sister.

* * *

"So, you're good at spy-business and stuff, right?" Lin said amicably.

"That's right, bigger-boss." The Iron Bull agreed, lowering his head to talk to the Herald better.

"Okay. This is for you, from my sister." Lin handed him a sheet of paper. Bull chuckled.

"From smaller-boss? I don't do love letters, you'll have to tell her th-" He stopped when he looked at the paper, "that, um… this is just a bunch of names and places. Why did you give me this?"

Lin gave him an exasperated look. "You're a spy, figure it out yourself."

It took Iron Bull a minute to realise what he was holding in his hand. "These are all mercenary leaders, and trading company owners." Lin nodded, looking pleased. "And this is because I'm a spy for the Qunari?"

"No," Lin immediately refuted.

"So this isn't a warning?"

"No. I'll let you think on it for a bit." The elf patted Bull's arm, unable to reach his shoulder, and meandered away to go talk to Cassandra.

"Shit," Bull groaned, looking at the list again. "You didn't give me a lot to work on, boss." He sat down heavily on a stool, racking his brain.

* * *

"I'm sorry?" Cassandra's voice sounded a bit high-pitched. "Could you repeat that?"

"Will you tell us how you became the right hand of the divine?" Banal repeated slowly, making sure to say her words in a very clear manner. "Please," she added as an after-thought. Lin nodded eagerly next to her, stars in his eyes.

"Maker, do you really want to hear that?" Cassandra groaned, reaching up to rub her nose. "To hear the others tell it, I took on a horde of dragons single-handedly."

"Did you?" Lin said innocently, eyes wide with delight. Banal clasped her hands in front of her, giving the Seeker a pleading look.

Well, maybe Cassandra could embellish it just a bit; add a few details for flavour, just to live up to their expectations. But not to much, she didn't want to lie. "Well, I did over hear a…"

Later, she would wonder at the tale she had spun for them, adding details she didn't even knew she remembered. The look of childish delight was worth the small crowd that gathered.

* * *

"It's dark in here," Banal whispered, shuffling forwards. She held the torch higher, the flames gleaming against her raven hair.

"Really?" Blackwall asked sarcastically. "I couldn't tell."

The rouge looked hurt by that, her brow wrinkling. "I can't feel Lin when we're this close to a rift. There's just this emptiness. The dark makes it worse."

Blackwall felt a bit guilty, even though he didn't understand half of what she said. "We'll find the others soon enough, my lady, I'm sure."

"Or they'll find us," she countered softly. She didn't talk louder than a whisper above the crackle of the flame, as if scared something else will hear her. "We are the ones lost, after all." Her quietness made it seem more ominous, as if being lost was a dangerous state to be.

"Right." Blackwall looked around the dark cave they found themselves in. "Or they'll find us," he repeated.

* * *

"You're very curious about the Circles, aren't you?" Vivienne mused, looking down at the red-headed elf that sat cross-legged in front of her. "So many questions, my dear boy, will you tell me why?"

"I like to understand the people I'll spend a lot of time with. It makes it easier not to insult them, and to know who to not have them be around." Green eyes blinked languidly, as if he didn't just say something some leaders didn't bother to learn. "Also, I'm hoping to get on your good side so you might help me impress a lady, later." He gave a cheeky smile, a blush dusting his cheeks.

The Orlesian raised an eyebrow, immediately interested. However, no manner of trickery or persuasion will give up the name of the woman. The elf is sly and well-versed in the Game; how he had become so is a mystery, but it does not change the fact he is.

The Sorceress approached his sister next, who flippantly told the mage that she did indeed know who he was interested in. And then she danced around the conversation even better than her brother had. Vivienne had to respect the way they hid any knowledge they wished to be kept secret.

She delighted when they both approached her one day, asking for the right way for Lin to court Lady Cassandra.

* * *

"Don't do anything dangerous," Banal cautioned, holding out her hand as if it was for a quick shake.

"Everything that interacts with the Mark could be considered dangerous," Solas replied softly, scooting closer to take her hand in his.

"Nothing untoward, then." She says this as if she was commenting on his clothes, or asking him to pass a bottle to her. "It would not be pleasant for you if my brother came in and decapitated you."

He wonders at the way she builds her sentences as his magic wormed it's way into the mana upon her palm and his face grew warm. The way she built her sentence was clear when speaking to him, words forming in a more older fashion. Of course, around Sera it was just as slurred and chaotic as the archer's. It threw him most times, and he could never seem to find control of the conversation no matter how familiar the wording was.

"Why do you not have _vallaslin_?" He asked instead, feeling the flow between the two siblings more strongly than before. He could feel the Marks trading mana back and forth, along with pieces of magic, and some sort of information. He concentrated on that as best he could.

"My clan doesn't do that."

"No?" He was deeper now, closer. He could almost dip his fingers in the magic, just barely brushing the magic. "Why not?"

"Well, the scouts found- ow!" The last word was sharp and loud, unexpected.

 _ **Pain.**_ It rippled through the connection he has made, traveling between the Marks as it was. But it was not from her, instead carrying from the other end. His magic clamped down automatically, but on the wrong thing. A sword; bright and gleaming, it moves out, the inability to move fast enough. A pained cry, the rip of metal through cloth, a splash of red, ringing voices in his ears, _his sister, she would help, where was his sister it hurt oh creators it hurt._ And below that, the roar of power.

Solas gasped as Banal ripped her hand out of his grasp, breaking his magic away; he leaned forwards to gag as the rogue bolted from her seat. Solas bit down on the back of his hand in an attempt to ground himself to reality. His unseeing eyes stared at the floor as his ragged breathing; green light crackled over his skin in an imitation of static, prickling his senses. The sparks faded quickly, the magic lost to him once more. He released his hand, blearily looking at the red bite-mark.

He doesn't think to test the mark again for many weeks after that.

* * *

" _Lin, I want you to go with the others."_ She looked at him with hard eyes, fist clenched and held against her chest in a sign of good-bye, the doorway silhouetting her.

" _I'll wait with them for you to return," he had answered._ He saluted her back, face stern and serious, before turning and following the others, helping Chancellor Roderick up the path. She turned and left, three of their companions falling in behind her.

Now he sat shivering, pressed as close to the fire as he could. The warmth flooded over him, curling his hair and possibly damaging his skin. But the cold was much deeper, coming not from the snow but from his own soul. A blanket had been thrown over his shoulder, but he couldn't find the strength to care who put it there.

"I'll wait for you," he whispered to the dark, looking down at his hand. "I know you're still out there."

People milled about him, surrounding him, faces blurring together. Pitying looks mostly, but he wasn't sure why. His sister would come back. She was still alive- cold, yes, and very tired, but still alive and still trying to get to him. A couple of people patted his shoulder as they walked past, and then someone sat down next to him heavily.

"Is she alright?" A voice asked, childlike and quiet. "Do I need to help?"

Lin looked up, taking in the Spirit that was sitting next to him. "No," he said eventually. "You can go help the healers, though. They'll welcome an extra hand."

"Is she alright?" The spirit repeated, leaning into Lin's personal space. Again, the elf was too tired to care.

"She's cold and tired and hurt, but she's trying to come back."

The Spirit- did he introduce himself as Coal or something?- nodded and stood, leaving Lin to wait. In the distance, he could hear what he thought must be the howl of a wolf, but sounded more like a soundless scream to the night.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter." He mumbled to himself, smiling at the sardonic words. He raised his fist to his mouth and kissed the top of his fingers.

* * *

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow," Banal'ras gasped, forcing her feet to move and push through the snow. "Ah, shit, what else did those sisters say? Something something blood." She giggled to herself, even though it wasn't funny. "Maybe I should stick with Dalish teachings, I've heard them more."

 **Maybe you should. It'll take your mind off of things.**

"Shut up, you ass," she huffed, lightly shaking her wrist. "Fine; May all those that wander in the dark know of their light, and be guided through the night by the Great Halla. May all those who hunt alone never fear the woods, and may their steps be silent as the Dread Wolf's. May all those who stay to tend be warmed by the Fire of the Hearth Mother. Ma-may all those that-" She stumbled, and her knees gave out from underneath her. Her hands smacked against the snow as she fell to all fours, the frozen flakes burning against the cuts on her palm. "May all those that walk alone, b- be.. be…"

 **Don't stop; you're almost there. Just a little farther…**

"I'm so cold, brother, and so tired." She sighed, watching the vapor dance in front of her. She sat back on her knees, tilting her head up to see the stars. "Just let me rest for a bit."

 **No, don't stop, please. Please, just...**

"You're so warm," she murmured, "are you by a fire?"

 **Yes, and if you hurry you can come sit by it as well.**

There was a voice shouting, sounding like Cullen- but that couldn't be right, because Cullen should be with the rest of the Inquisition. Her eyes closed, falling forwards from her upwards gaze and she hit the ground.

"Thank the Maker!"

… **Was that Cassandra?**

His voice sounded farther away.

She couldn't feel the ground beneath her suddenly, a warmth enveloping her instead. She was floating, out of touch with reality with only the foggy, distant feeling of her brother keeping her from just letting go.


	2. Red Sail Trader

**Feedback would be nice on these ideas!**

Codex Entry: The Red Sail Traders

They had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Flowing red sails cresting over the horizon was almost always a welcome sight, bringing with it good food and usually good fortune. The trading company didn't have a clear beginning within any of the history documents, and even the oldest, most decrepit scrolls found made brief mentions of them. The only one who would know the origin of the Red Sails would have been the traders themselves.

The group was rich in money, blood and history. Their records were carefully written and preserved, the hoard of gold that passed into the company's possession scattered through the lands and through the workers.

The ships with the red sails carried human, elf, and the occasional dwarf and Qunari who agreed to join. The towns, outposts and stores that was run by them was even more varied; often, it was nigh impossible to know if it even was owned by them unless you were part of the company yourself. If recruited into the company (for you must be recruited, and not just "accepted" like an uncouth mercenary or thug) they present you with a contract in which you must follow. Though it's impossible to receive specifics, for it seems to vary between each, and is against the contract to speak of it, it seems to follow at least a few basic rules that can be told by any Red Sail member. They will watch over your family if it is needed, you have limited access to their history and libraries, you are paid, and have a way to "disappear" if they are responsible for the reason why. And they usually are the reason why.

Being old and large, the Red Sail "Trading" company has leverage behind it's name; their pockets run deep, though they usually never spend large portions of it unless pressed. It's very rare if they spend their older money- gold coins minted in the Tevinter Age, or even gold bars with elvish script flowing across the surface, are only used as gifts to their most prized contacts and never for monetary exchange. They are much more than just traders.

To note, the library in the possession of the Red Sail Traders is extensive to say the least; Any higher-ups of the company are well-read and intelligent, with centuries of trial-and-errors to look through. They mark history, in their own odd fashion, and several key disputed have been settled by the Red Sails. Even more ancient documents has been recently found during expeditions into old hideaways, along with riches and art works (the former of which has disappeared by their own doing, and the latter has been scattered through Thedas to view in larger Trader Posts). Records of scandals, discoveries, inventions, political movements, war tactics, ancient architecture, and religious history can be found in your hands if one was to just ask the right person. It's not sure where the records are kept; only that they are,that some are more free to public view than other choice articles, and they do it in an odd, uncoordinated fashion that still manages to be sorted in such a way to be usable. Almost all interactions or exchanges with them are written down.

-"In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar," by Brother Genitivi

Their leader is unnamed, unknown, never mentioned in public, and yet still the knowledge has become common-place that the person in the position changes every five years exactly. There is no title for this position, and no public fame. There is only hushed whispers, wary exchanges, and the knowledge that one person could cut the throat of the world with but a word and a name on a paper. We can only hope the next one to take power is as kind and forgiving as his predecessors.

\- Taken from longer notes of Traven the Bard

Loren,

I've heard what you've been trying, and I'll tell you this: stop now. Before they find out. No one messes with the Red Sails and gets away with it. Not the King, not the Empress of Orlais, not even their own members, and certainly not you. Every town has a spy on it, and every shop you enter could be one of theirs. There's no escaping. They're big, really big, and no matter how well they can hide it they have people everywhere. They'll find out, and track you down. No one messes with the Red Sails and gets away with it. No one.

Martinn

-A note found in an abandoned house, along with a tattered scrap of red sail-cloth


	3. Bound Between Covers

This will start long before the conclave, and will take a while to get to the main storyline (if I bother to actually write it!)

* * *

It was a thin little thing, with an unreasonably thick cover on it and a clasp to keep it closed. Placed into a metal box and tucked under a tree, it was a wonder anyone found it before the wood had covered it completely. The lock on the box was rusted to the point that it could fall apart with only curious fingers, and the hinges broke off instead of moved. Wide eyes looked at the delicate bird pattern burned into the front of the leather, stubby little hands reaching into the box.

A grubby hand swiped tears from a pair of watery eyes, and the little child fell back to sit on the forest floor. Still sniffling, the elf-child turned the booklet over in her hands. The mud on her didn't seem to stick to the leather as she traced the bird with a bitten finger-nail. Fumbling thumbs popped open the clasp, and the cover fell open to reveal clean pages. Sniffling one last time, the little elfling closed the book and pulled herself up, making her way back to camp.

* * *

 **Deer Diary,** she scrawled onto the paper once she was safely hiding under her covers.

 **I found you in the woods today aftur Bril made fun of my hare. she sade that my hare was stuped and loked like a snowflak but it dont at all. so i went to the wood to cry and i found you in a box. I like yur bird on front.** **I can draw bird too.**

To prove her point, she doodled a copy of the bird below her words. Once she was done, she sat back to admire it. She always saw the First writing in a book like this, and he always looked happy. Maybe, keeping a "Diary" will help her feel happy as well. As she admired her drawing, she saw curly words starting to write underneath it.

 _Hello. I like your bird. How old are you?_

She blinked a few times, then narrowed her eyes and said the words aloud until she understood them. Then she smiled brightly, putting her quill down again. **Im four and a helf. Im big girl now!** She giggled to herself, twirling her pen. She didn't know a Diary was supposed to write back; however, it made sense at why Pavel always did it!

 _You're very smart for your age! I can draw as well. Would you like to see?_

She said the words out loud again, stumbling a bit on the 'would.' **Yes,** she wrote back finally, though her ink smeared some because she was pressing down too hard. Snorting in irritation, she pulled her hand back and waited again. To her delight and amazement, the ink on the page started to swirl around her drawing of the bird, the black liquid moving like smoke. It gathered near the top, the words re-forming into a rough sketch of a hand held out to the bird. She gasped excitedly, pulling the booklet to her chest suddenly.

After carefully poking her head out and looking around the aravel , she ducked back and started to write again. **Thats prety hand,** she scribbled underneath the sketch. **Its bed-time. I will rite when i wake up.** She closed it quickly, holding it against her for another minute. Her face was stretched into a wide grin as she pulled her covers off of her head. She hung upside-down off the side of the bed, shoving the booklet into the darkness below. Then she pulled herself up into her bed, throwing her covers into place and squeezing her eyes shut. Her mother padded in a minute later, checking to make sure she was asleep. The mother sighed at seeing her daughter left the shutter open, bathing the room in a soft moonlight.

* * *

 _What is your name, child?_ The diary wrote to her the next day after she told it she had woken up.

 **Ashanna,** she scrawled in her best handwriting, adding a little squiggle afterwards. She had often practiced writing her name and was happy to show someone her results, even if it was just her diary.

 _That's a pretty name. You may call me Diary, if you want._

 **Okay,** she scratched out, almost smearing her ink again in her excitement. **You kept the bird on the first page, but no hand.**

 _Yes,_ Diary agreed, _you are a good drawer. I was impressed, and decided to keep it so that when you get better you can see how you improved._

Ashanna had to sit back and serious try to figure out the words, thinking over them for several minutes. Once she understood most of it, she nodded her head in childlike seriousness. **Do all diary write back? First Panya has one to.**

 _I don't know of any other diary that writes back. Just me. Sorry._

Ashanna frowned at the words, confused. **Then how it make him happy if it not his frend?**

The words were slower to start to appear, and they were formed hesitantly. _I don't know. If you want, I'll be your friend. I'll keep you happy._

She squealed, hugging the booklet to her chest again. **We be best frends for ever.**

 _Yes,_ Diary replied. _I have not had a friend in a while. I may be silly. Or stupid._

 **You no stupid, you real smart. Teach me to rite better?** _If I can._

* * *

 **Diary, what's a demon?** She wrote, curious after one of her Keeper's lectures. The Elder didn't go into it much, just a brief warning that told very little.

 _It is a Spirit of the Fade that has become twisted in it's reflection of emotions, becoming something darker and dangerous. They can't do much harm unless you allow them to do so; Spirits themselves are harmless, they need to be fueled by your emotions. That said, some demons are fueled by other's emotions, and can hurt you regardless of your own thoughts._

She didn't understand a quarter of what Diary wrote, and half of it was conflicting. **I don't understand,** she wrote back.

 _I'll tell you when you're older. For now, have no fear and trust in I'll keep you safe from demons. After all, what are friends for? Sweet dreams, da'len._

That night, she dreamed of a towering dragon keeping her guard from the frightful monsters of the night, allowing her to play upon its horns and scatter it's treasure-pile and keeping her safe under its wings.

* * *

"Come down, Ash!" Elriel called up to her, his hands on his hips as he strained his head back to look up at the leaves. "I know you're in there."

Ashanna sighed, hunching over her "diary." It was still in the perfect condition she had found it in, regardless of all the "adventures" she had dragged it through. She had still kept it after all these years, content in the knowledge that her first friend was within easy reach. While the inked conversations never lasted on the paper, Diary could still pull them onto the paper if she asked, complete with the childish scrawl she had once used. He would makes her drawings come to life, dancing and frollicking across the pages. He made her happy when she was sad, and strong when she was broken. He taught her things that no one else would.

She was content to stay with just him, but she at his urging she socialized with others as well. So, with reluctance, she closed the booklet and put it in her bad. Elriel stood back and she came down, sending a few twigs falling.

"You're fourteen," Elriel scolded when she reached the ground. "You shouldn't run off like that. Your mother will be worried."

"Yes, Keeper," Ashanna muttered, kicking the ground. She hadn't got a chance to even say hello to Diary before he found her, and was still a bit cross. The mage eyed her warily for a bit as she stared at a very interesting leaf beneath her toes.

"Was it Brill?" He asked after a moment of hesitation. He sighed when Ashanna gave a jerky nod without looking up. "Honestly, can't you children just get along?" Wearily, he took her by the sleeve and started to lead her back to the Camp.

"She said I'm not really a Levallan 'cause of my dad," Ash whined, looked up with her dark brown eyes. Elriel matched it with his cold blue ones, unmoved. "She says I'm cursed or something. Does my hair really mean I'm cursed?"

"No, of course not." Elriel said immediately. He suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable, lowering his head and allowing his shaggy grey hair to fall in front of his eyes. "Your father was a great man, and a great mage. Yes, he was not of the Levallan clan, but that doesn't mean you are not of the clan as well. Your mother's blood is in you as well as your fathers." He stopped walking, looking conflicted. Awkwardly, he reached out and laid a hand on her head, kneeling down to be her own height. "Your father had white hair as well, and you have received that from him. It is not a curse, _da'len_ , just your inheritance. You may not have his magic, but you are still his."

 _If it is a curse,_ Diary wrote to her later once she was in the safety of her home, _then not one I would know. And I know everything, child._

 **You don't know everything,** she wrote back, even as a ghost of a smile came to her.

 _Says you. I'm old; I should be able to know everything. If not, what is the point of age?_ **Perhaps to teach the young.** There was a silence after that, the page beneath her words blank. It wasn't usual, to have Diary not answer her. _Yes,_ he said at last. _Perhaps it is. If you would just learn. Now, do you remember what I told you yesterday about diplomacy?_

Ashanna snorted, rolling her eyes. When she asked all those years ago to be taught, she did not think he would take it this far. Apparently, he would make sure she knew everything to do with speechcraft.

 _I may not know everything, but I know more than I should._

That startled her, staring out at her the next time she opened the cover. It was written in the large flowing script of Diary, placed in the middle of the second page. She pulled her pen out of her pocket, setting it against the paper. **What do you mean?**

 _I know things that I shouldn't. Strange things, that no one else can. I can't tell you about them, however. That is my own curse. Just know that the world is a large, often scary place._

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking down at the words in confusion. She gave up trying to understand it after a while, shutting the book and returning to work.

* * *

 **Enansal is pretty cute,** she wrote one day, tucked away in the corner of the camp as dusk fell. **I saw him without a shirt. He is very fit.**

 _You are forbidden from taking an interest in males._ **What?** _No. You are too young._ **I'm sixteen!** _My point exactly. You can admire them when you're one hundred._ She wrinkled her nose at the thought, looking offended. **Elves may age slow, but not that slow!** She furiously scribbled, underlining the 'not' in the sentence.

 _My point exactly._ **Honestly, there's no reason for you to be this adverse to me admiring Enansal's chest!** _You might forget me._ **What?** _When you have someone else you might put me down and not pick me up. I will be alone again. Like before you found me._ **I would never forget you, you're my friend.** There was another pause, and she looked at the paper, at a loss. _Ma serannas,_ he wrote eventually. _Abelas. Tell me more of this Enansal, then. Maybe you could draw a picture of his handsome chest?_ Added to the end of the sentence was a little mark to show that he was being sarcastic. **Well, maybe I will, so there!**

She blushed furiously, her pen flying over the space below her words.

 _Oh…_ Diary wrote later, after she sat back and looked at her finished picture. _He's definitely cute, and fit. You're still not allowed to be interested in a romantical endeavor until you're one hundred, or your partner is._ **Ugh, I don't want to be romanced by some old geezer, they're hideous.** She made a face at the very thought. Then, to her amusement, the picture swirled to form a hunched over bald elf with great wrinkles in his sagging face, holding out his hand while leaning heavily on a staff with the other. The words "come with me, ma vhenan," were scratched the the side with a line to show that the old elf was the one saying it.

Ashanna giggled at her friend's foolishness, and wrote her farewells for the day.

* * *

 **They want me to go to the Conclave. The one I told you about, with the mages and the templars.** _What? You're too young to go! Refuse the request immediately._ **Ma serannas, my friend. I have already agreed.** _Fenedhis!_ _You will take me along, yes?_ **Of course, Diary. If only to keep you happy.** _I worry about you, my friend. This conclave will be more trouble than you realise. Stay safe, and tell me everything that happens._ **Of course; I'll write it down as it happens!** _Good girl._

* * *

 **I'm almost to the Conclave, now. There are a lot of templars around.** _You have your sword with you?_ **Of course.** _And your pack? Do you have enough water? Is your mount still fresh enough? Is your armour sufficient?_ The words appeared quickly, scrawled in a rush across the page. Ashanna laughed at his worry, shaking her head. **Relax; everything will go fine. I promise I'm well prepared for anything that happens. And if I'm not, then I'm sure that those skills you taught me will come in handy.**

 _This is not comforting._ He wrote back immediately, followed by a sketch of a face with the tongue sticking out. She answered with a symbol she had created to show she found amusement in this and a quick farewell.

* * *

The Conclave was a strange place, with many people with very long names. Ashanna stayed hidden for the most part, skirting around most people and sticking to the darker corridors. True to her word, she diligently wrote down everything that happened in the unique short-hand of her own creation, telling Diary what was happening. She described the tension between the mages and the templars, the fluttering of the chantry sisters, and the arguments that happened at loud volumes. She wrote this all in the safe comfort of knowing that Diary will remember this all for her and repeat it back with every detail she told him. The last thing she wrote was the scrawling phrase they used for "Something Bad!"

She did not write in the Diary for many days after that.

* * *

 _ **Diary?**_

Her handwriting was shaky and smeared, the pen harsh against the paper. Jagged letters formed tilted words, spaced out in odd intervals. The corners were too stark, the curves to jittery. Something was wrong with Ashanna.

 _You have returned! Are you okay? You did not write for many days!_ He answered immediately, followed by a symbol for concern.

 _ **I am fine. Something happened. What happened at the Conclave? I can not remember.**_

 _I can not answer what happened when you stopped writing, but I shall show you what you wrote before you stopped._ And he did; pulling up several pages worth of her words and observations, he was eager to please and to help. There was a long minute as she turned the pages, slowly looking through the words.

 _ **I'm going to show this to someone else. Would you change any parts where we are talking?**_ At her behest, some of the words faded from the paper and the sentences rearranged themselves to fill in the spaces. Her last sentence faded away last, though the symbol for concern stayed on the page.


	4. At Peace

The Inquisition as cold, battered, and low on moral. The loss of Haven was devastating. The soldiers huddled around small fires, the wind and snow blowing around them. Whenever the clouds parted, glittering stars could be seen. The Herald was tucked beneath piles of blankets, shivering and sick, having given everything for the people to escape, and it was not known if he would survive the night. The cold seeped into their very souls, freezing out hope.

But then _**he**_ burst out of the tent, still swathed in furs and blankets, with a fire in his eyes and a set mouth. He brought warmth with him, dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. And the people took a knee at his presence, in awe over the Miracle that the Maker had provided that was the Herald. He opened his mouth and words of hope and encouragement spang forth, and the knowledge of a place to go and recover.

And the people prepared and packed as Solas pulled the Herald to one side to tell his knowledge of the Orb. In curiosity, he asked about this promised place.

"It's called Skyhold. You may have heard of it." The Herald's eyes sparked with laughter as Solas' jaw dropped in surprise, taken aback by the news. "It's pretty old, may have some mentions in the fade. It'll be a good place to recover."

* * *

"Oh!" The Herald exclaimed in surprise as they finally managed to push open the front door enough for him to poke his head through. He pulled it back quickly, and threw himself against the wooden monstrosity that was blocking the was. The gate swung open at last, revealing the overgrown keep before them.

The walls towered over them, braces arching overhead in a cathedral-style ceiling. Windows let dim light in on the far side, illuminating an object covered in a sheet. Dust floated down around them, disturbed by the door, and made Cullen sneeze.

"It's in very good condition, considering how long it has been since it has been occupied," Solas noted, shuffling in after the others. He craned his head up to look at the far-away ceiling and the half-ruined tapestries draped again the walls. There was no holes in the roof, though some of the supports looked like they would need replacing soon. A mouse skittered over Josephine's, making her jump and squeal.

"Where's the guardian?" The Herald, now Inquisitor, mused, leading the way further into the building. Cullen stayed close on his heels, hand on his sword. The Templar looked around warily, acting twitchy and paranoid. "It's supposed to be somewhere around here."

"There is no 'guardian' of Skyhold, that much I can promise you," Solas scoffed, though the flat look he received told him the response.

The Inquisitor turned his back to him, huffing. The warrior raised his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that reverberated through the hall. "Here, Soggy!" He called after it, pitching his voice so it echoed against the stone walls. Everyone tensed, silent, while Solas just rolled his eyes.

There was a clattering from the right, making the elven mage immediately take back what he had said. The noise was loud- too loud for just a small animal that had nested in the keep. Sharp sounds of claws or hooves clicking against the hard floor came to them, and the sound of shattering a piece of rotted wood. A rasping noise of large scales or metal against stone accompanied it, sending shivers up and down everyone's back. Then, the world seemed to stop, the sound pausing.

"... What was that?" Cullen breathed after a minute, grip tight on his sword.

"That was Soggy," The Inquisitor whispered back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And perhaps it was, except there shouldn't be anything 'guarding' Skyhold, especially not something named Soggy of all things! "Soggy," He called out again, "come out, come out, wherever you are! It's me!" The stupid, apparently crazy human took a step forwards, only to be stopped by a hand gripping his forearm. He turned to Liliana, looking confused. "...What?"

"Inquisitor, do you know what is in here with us?" The bard said lowly, tightening her grip.

"Well, sure," the man said blithely. "I've been here before loads of time. Nothing to worry about." He patted Liliana's hand and took a single step again. The spymaster let him go, but still looked worried. After a minute of everyone standing there awkwardly, the Inquisitor sighed. "I think he's not going to come out," he said, sounding forlorn.

* * *

There was no accidents while rebuilding the walls, much to the amazement of the workers. Good luck seemed to be blessed upon them as the men managed to avoid unstable rocks before they fell. Granted, the walls were in good repair besides the sign of a siege of some sort. Sometimes, they pulled odd objects out of the rubble- a glowing gem, a bent swords, a metal box of seeds, and once the half-crushed skull of griffon.

Some of the men swore that a benevolent spirit appeared, guiding them away from their deaths. Others claimed the Maker had blessed them, and yet a third group stated it was the odd magic in the keep.

Wilhelm watched, running his finger around the rim of his glass, as his companions made a ruckus. He chuckled at Sera's antics; at the way Iron Bull bluffed about, at the was Dorian was not so secretly eyeing the qunari; at the face Cassandra made when she was enraptured in a story Varric made, the way Vivienne leaned forwards slightly to express her opinion; the way Solas sat back with a lonely look but never joined them, and the way Cole floated around making sure everyone had enough food; at the way Blackwall seemed to be winning an eating contest all by his lonesome.

"This is nice," he said, taking a sip of his drink. Behind and above him, he heard the familiar rasp of Soggy. There was a pressure around his ankles as if something had wrapped around them, and the air turned cold. "Don't you think this is nice? Your keep is being repaired, I have some friends, the world is getting fixed. The perfect fairy-tale."

There was an disagreeing growl behind him, and Wilhelm frowned. The pressure at his ankles disappeared, and when he looked down all he saw was a slight condensation on the stone. He felt goosebumps at the sudden change of temperature, and took another drink. "Yeah, I didn't think so either," he grumbled, shadows covering his face. He absentmindedly tugged his sleeves in an automatic attempt to hide cuts that didn't exist anymore.


	5. Snare and Deadfall

**The Hunt**

It was a merry chase for Fen'harel, something he had not indulged in for many centuries. Traps and cliffs stood in his way, or the Shifter would disappear into a crowd; it would change his face to that of a woman, or a child, and once a dog. But Fen'harel had the tracker that showed him the path straight and true, and never did he falter. He followed the shifter through woods and over rivers, waiting for the mistake that will end the chase.

If there ever was a mistake, it was the Dread Wolf who made it. He never expected his quarry would have allies. Fen'harel had the Shifter cornered in another game of cat and mouse, and he wholly expected the shifter to slip away like the times before, and he would give chase. But a hand appeared through a Eluvian and pulled the Shifter through, and the looking glass shattered in their passing. The Shifter had gone to a place even the Dread Wolf could not follow, and would not return for many years.

 **The Hounds**

The Shifter did return to his sights eventually, and in his unchanging ways the Dread Wolf set off again for the hunt. The Shifter was much more frantic in the chase now, with none of the finesse from the earlier chase. It covered land much quicker, with no traps laid or cliffs to scale. It disappointed the Dread Wolf, who was expecting the sly cunning in his prey from before.

But the Shifter was not running from him at all. In fact, the Shifter was running towards something. One night, the Shifter set upon a great Keep as the Dread Wolf crested a hill. Fen'harel could only watch in awe as any barrier was shattered, any wall in the way brought down without mercy. Great mages were laid to rest forevermore, fierce warriors with many kills to their name were made unable to notch one more. At the end, with the Keep in ruins and the air filled with smoke, the Shifter came out with a child in arms and a woman trailing behind with broken shackles on her legs. Fen'harel didn't follow so closely this time.

 **The Pack**

The Shifter led the woman and the child to a forgotten temple, tucked away in the Withered Forest. And while Fen'harel watched from the tree-tops, the Shifter activated a cracked Eluvian and let them pass through. The woman, with the child clutched to her chest, thanked the Shifter heartfully before she went in, saying she would tell someone on the other side of the Shifter's continued health. That was how the Dread Wolf learned of his quarry's family.

And if he felt a weight in his stomach when the Shifter called out for the niece and grandnephew to stay safe as they disappeared into the Eluvian, he made no show of it upon his face. And if his breath caught when the Shifter turned around with the most brightest of smiles, no one was there to ask after it.

 **The Beaters**

The chase resumed as soon as the Shifter made it past the forest edge, now in the guise as a young woman. There was again all the wit and traps that the Dread Wolf remembered, the close-calls and the near misses that thrilled him. Often he would forget the true reason of the chase, too caught in the game, until he was led to a completely new face with the same old tricks.

Fen'harel became aware of the others chasing quarry when a town they were passing through went up in flames. The Shifter changed into a great Beast, shielding the townsfolk and drawing the ire of the aggressors. The assailant's armour bore the arms of the Keep that the Shifter put to the torch. In a jealous rage, he set upon the chasers and scattered their ranks. When the men fled before him, he was left standing alone with the Shifter looking on him with curiosity.

 **The Bite**

Fen'harel, having almost reached his goal, was taken by surprise when the Shifter refused to teach him how to change his form. He explained he was not with those of the Keep, and that he meant the Shifter or the Shifter's family any harm. But still the Shifter refused him. In anger, the Dread Wolf lashed out at the Shifter.

It was the second great mistake of Fen'harel during the chase, for he underestimated the power the Shifter held, even after a battle. The raw force of the retaliating attack brought the Dread Wolf to his knees. And while not marked with an visible injury, Fen'harel could do nothing as the Shifter slipped away once again.

 **The Pitfall**

While the Shifter did not intentionally leave a trap that day, Fen'harel still found himself insnared. His very heart was caught by the unwitting Shifter, having fallen from his grasp by the unrelenting show of force. He followed through the chase, but with only half-hearted effort, and was haunted by memories of brilliant smiles and powerful magic

To the great misfortune of the Dread Wolf, the others of the Pantheon caught wind of the chase. Several of the Gods wanted the power of the Shifter as well, and converged upon the Shifter. The Shifter, already in fear of the Gods due to Fen'harel, fled to a place they could not follow and was never to return.

 **The Cage**

Fen'harel, in a cold rage he had not felt before, plotted against the rest of the Pantheon. When he saw his opportunity, he sealed away the other Gods, and forced away the Forgotten Ones. In despair, he himself fell into Uthenera.

Though he come to would regret locking away the rest of the Gods, for centuries his anger did not waver. And by the time he tried to end their punishment, there was no way for the others to return. Fen'harel still lives, weighted with guilt and longing for a love he never was able to fully give his heart to.

 _ **The Quarry**_

What the Dalish never head was how Fen'harel tried desperately not to allow his hopes to take flight when his tracker suddenly lit up again, pointing off into the distance after several thousand years of inactivity.

* * *

(A.N. I've come to the conclusion that I like Solas. Also this is a "romance" story, if you couldn't tell!)


	6. So Said the Maker, Begone

_I send a pestilence and plague, Into your house into your bed,_

 _Into your streams into your streets, into your drink into your bread._

 _Upon your cattle, on your sheep, upon your oxen in the field_

 _Into your dreams into your sleep, until you break; until you yield!_

 _I send the swarm I send the swarm, I send the horde_

 _I send the thunder from the sky, I send the fire raining down!_

* * *

To say that the Venatori were cursed with bad luck was an understatement. Everywhere, they were plagued with problems. Their water supplies would be contaminated and most crops sent to them was covered in insects or molds. Whenever they tried to set up their own farms or gardens, the animals would become sick and the land would freeze or scorch.

Several nights before they planned on sieging an Inquisition Keep, the river flooded and carried away their supplies. When they tried again in the dry months, their tents caught fire and alerted the Inquisition of their presence.

Disease crept upon through their ranks, bringing with it dissent. Men with the craze-sickness would attack their comrades in while setting up camp, and the spies often went hungry. Nightmares hounded them when they slept. Still they kept up, continuing under the unwavering gaze of their 'god.'

* * *

 _I send my scourge, I send my sword_

 _Thus saith the Lord._

* * *

There had been severals names that has been gifted by the mortals. "Allaybra," "The Forgotten One," "Dumat", "Ancestors" and most recently- "Maker". Sometimes there are others that stood as well, and other times it was one force, alone.

There is very few times that the mortals prayed so vehemently that it turned the Maker's gaze. One of the more "well known" instances is when the people prayed for an end to the crushing rule of the Tevinter Imperium only around a thousand years ago. The empire receded back to it's most innermost sanctuary before he allowed his "chosen one" to finally lay at rest.

And "now", if there was a presence of time to be claimed, the world was ripped apart by the very force sent to shape it. The people cried out to their god as the world ended. And they were answered; powered by the people's sorrow, time itself unwound, as easily as unweaving a braid.

And this is why the "Maker" was sitting on a throne, feet idly swinging of the edge of the armrest as he sat sideways in the plush, cushioned chair and watched the people walk through the Keep. A book about the fade, totally incorrect, sat open in his lap and brought great amusement to him as Josephine scheduled another meeting. And while the world could be saved in one clean stroke from his place in the Void, he had always found that to be so very boring.


End file.
